Thoughts In Captivity
by iam97
Summary: This is the translation to my one-shot 'Gedanken in Gefangenschaft'. It's about Peeta, his thoughts while being held in the Capitol. Rated T because it contains small references to torture and because I rate everything T. one-shot. Read and Review!


**A/N: So, this is the translation to my one shot "Gedanken in Gefangenschaft". I was lazy, so I kept the title and translated it, too:D But…this is by no means perfect, because…yeah, I'm not good at translating, so some things may be different, because there was no other way to do it:D**

**Yeah well…same topic, same circumstances: Peeta's thoughts while he is in the Capitol.**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Hunger Games**

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><p>I sigh. Grey. Grey walls. That's everything I see when I look around. It's not as though they weren't different colors in this room, but in order to see them I would have to bend my head.<p>

And I can't. It's not only that it would take effort and that it would hurt, no, it would also show me colors I don't want to see this way.

Red. Red blood, streaming from my countless wounds. The color also appears on those spots where the stun guns shoot one hundred volt through my body. To force me to give them information I don't have.

Blue. Blue bruises everywhere where the peacekeepers beat and kicked me. They are not only blue though. They're also yellow and green. Even brown sometimes, on places where they burned my skin away.

Before, before I was captured, or even in the games, when I thought of colors, I thought of beauty. I thought of every wonderful thing colors stand for. Can stand for. Flowers. Pies. Dresses. Just Beauty.

Maybe Katniss is right. Before the Quarter Quell she had told me that beauty was a weakness. I told her it wasn't, except maybe when it came to her.

Oh yes. Katniss and her beauty are my greatest weaknesses. Well, actually her character is. It is just reflected by her looks.

It's true. Katniss is not perfect. But I am not perfect either. Both of us killed, both of us have the blood of human beings on our hands. Blood of tributes. Even if the Capitol forced us to do it, it was still our choice to actually stab someone with a spear. To actually _do_ it.

Sometimes I even question this. Was it really our choice? Would it have been a possibility to get oneself killed or to commit suicide in order not to kill the others?

When I first stepped into the arena, I felt that something. Something, a feeling, an urge, that told me to survive. That I had to survive. It had more will to life than my conscious me. This me had been concentrated on two undertakings.

I had to protect and save Katniss, I had promised that to myself. I could never have watched her die, could never have borne the fact that I would have been the one whose survival meant her death.

And my other intention was to die as myself. I had been convinced that there had to be a way to show the Capitol they didn't, still don't, own me. I had told Katniss on the roof. More than a piece in their games were my words. I don't believe she understood what I meant back then. She said that she had understood me 'a little'. I don't believe it. She was clueless.

But there was a point, when we were sitting on top of the cornucopia, while the mutations were mauling Cato, where I saw it in her eyes. When she went to the edge of it in order to shot Cato. When she did it, she didn't do it to get revenge, no. It was pity, pity for another human being. Pity for a boy dying a gruesome death. Pity for someone she once considered her enemy.

To think like this, especially in the Hunger Games, is forbidden yet we did it.

Now we both know who the real enemy was and still is. It's not the other districts. It's not their tributes. The best example is a girl from district seven. I hear her every day. Screaming. Johanna Mason, a tribute in the fifty seventh Hunger Games. Someone I once was prepared to kill. Ready to kill. But she never was the real enemy.

The real enemy is the Capitol. The Capitol, that forces children to not only watch horrible doings, but also do them themselves. Killing. Killing is an infringement against nature. Nobody should be forced to do it, but everyone being selected for the Games is forced.

It's not right and even though I told Caesar we needed a ceasefire, they need to fight. The rebellion has not only to proceed but also to succeed.

The only thing I wish is that they won't kill. That they fight in peace, with words.

I am no fool. It's war, or it will be soon, and then many people are to die. Nobody even wastes a thought on talking. They unlearned to listen. We could coexist with the people in the Capitol, coexist in peace, without any Games. They wish us no evil.

President Snow, yes, he knows what he is doing. I knows it and he enjoys it. But everyone else there is brainwashed. They don't know better.

Snow is the only one who has to die. A few years ago I thought differently about our president. Imagining to execute him, to want it, to even wish for it, filled me with guilt. It's vicious to want the death of a man. That's not something a human should do.

But if the human was in the Hunger Games, he could have a different view on it. I do now. I didn't really want any of the other tributes to die. But this urge was present, this urge to kill. To kill in order to protect the most precious thing.

And there's the fly in the ointment. If we play the Games by the rules of the Capitol, we protect our own life. Because that should be the thing most precious to every man, his own survival. This way, exactly this way, is the way the Capitol wants us to play the games.

But my life wasn't the life most precious to me in there. Every life is precious, sure, but the life I wanted to save wasn't my own. It was a life outside of my own body.

I sigh again. Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. The huntress. The girl on fire. The Mockingjay. That's her. The girl I'm suffering for. I know she's safe in District Thirteen, which is still existing, much to my surprise.

The peacekeeper told me, even though it was involuntary. They were trying to get information about the plans of the rebels out of me. I was even happy then, because that meant that if I die, or more like, when I die, it won't be for nothing. It won't be in vain. It would mean that I had finally succeeded. Succeeded in what I was trying to do since the fist arena.

Dying for Katniss.

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><p><strong>What do you think? Does it sound translated?<strong> **Do you like it? REVIEW!**


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